If we allow our globular brains,
and our orbital souls, to be pressed
flat for the accommodation
of screened devices, then, we shall
become like plucked blossoms,
or dead butterflies inside
the sheets of a silent book.
Dave Read
Poems
Order should be imposed on my poems, but isn't likely to be until I turn to carpentry, or painting, to carry me through the day. The display here is latest first.